


Breathe

by cactiist



Series: Michael's Vent Fics [2]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Panic Attacks, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 22:00:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19895008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cactiist/pseuds/cactiist
Summary: Grabbing onto the Otter stuffy beside her, she held it in her arms, hugging it tightly and close to her chest. Let it all out.





	Breathe

Breathing. Why in the world did that seem so hard for her? It was something that so many others did on the daily, just to be able to stay alive. She needed to breathe. Just breath, in and out. Slowly. But it wasn't happening. Her breathing alternated between fast breaths and pants to slow, almost controlled but not quite breaths.

So what could she do? Maybe try and focus on distractions? She sat up a bit clumsily against the wall, looking at her surroundings. Her bedroom. What was in it?

Mostly yellows. What else?

Yellow sheets and curtains that were a nice and pale colour, but not too bright because she didn't like that. Too bright was too much, and too much never helped sometimes.

Grey pillowcases. Some of them were darker than others, arranged not by size, but by shades, going from a dark grey at the corner of her bed against the wall to a light and cool grey at the edge of the bed. Her eyes flitted over to the right, to a gentle white-grey wall that wasn't harsh on her eyes but muted. There were some posters of movies and bands she liked, some posters of celebrities and candid photos of her friends and family and different locations, all frozen in time just from the click of a button. Laughter and happiness radiated from that wall. Which was a good thing. Sometimes.

On the end of her bed, there was a pile of stuffies that formed an awkward rock-slide/triangle formation. Pretty much all of them here animals, the fabric-like "fur" on them soft to the touch, something that she liked to feel on the tips of her fingers when she held a few to her chest. A few had fallen over. Some were missing. They probably fell off the bed.

Black bookcases, holding many books of all shapes and sizes and genres. They fit well with the grey and yellow colours she had in her room.

Light brown wooden floors. A carpet made of multiple puffballs of yellow and grey sat in the middle of her room.

And then she couldn't think. Everything started to get overwhelmingly loud, her chest tightening for no reason. Her eyesight started to blur, hot tears stinging her eyes and she attempted to wipe away some of the tears with shaking hands away, her breathing now deciding to be a pain. Grabbing onto the Otter stuffy beside her, she held it in her arms, hugging it tightly and close to her chest. Let it all out.

She couldn't remember what triggered her to have a panic attack, but something did, and Brooke couldn't find it in herself to care at the moment. Not when her thoughts were all clouded like this.


End file.
